Wolven Oak
by Lyn Harkeran
Summary: What if there had been another dwarf in the company of Thorin Oakenshield? How will the company respond to a female among their ranks? Slight AU of the events of Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. Thorin/OC romance
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: The Dwarf Bard of Bree**

* * *

It was nearing dusk as the sun began to set on the beautiful spring sky. And even the grouchiest of beings would have had to admit how good the weather had been that entire week. There had not had been an unwelcome cloud in the sky, nor anything but tender winds and green grasses, which had brought untold relief and joy to the farmers and town sellers of the small hamlet of Bree.

And despite the usual drab industry feeling the town created, Bree almost seemed peaceful as the daylight began to fade.

During the day, the streets were filled with numerous travelers and natives, but on this particular evening the roads were unfrequented. Which was nothing short of a blessing to the woman that made her way to the hamlet's inn.

Looking at this woman from behind, one might have thought her to be male, with her short and somewhat stocky build and broad shoulders. But if you looked upon her face, it was obvious that she was indeed female. She was a dwarf maid, with medium brown skin, dark shining eyes, and a thick black mane of untamed hair that hung well past her upper back.

This small woman walked with confidence and her head held high, even though her spirits had been low that day. She had been truly troubled, and nothing had been able to calm her rampant emotions, despite all the efforts she had made to be happy.

So it was with a wrinkled brow, that Vargkom the dwarf entered the Prancing Pony Inn, and approached the counter with coin in hand. Silently, she placed the copper piece down and slid it across to the Barman. The rounded Innkeeper lifted an eyebrow as he poured her out a drink, and pushed it towards her.

"Hard day?"

Vargkom took a long pull from the tankard and met the man's eyes slowly. "Aye. Without some of your ale in me, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to sing tonight."

The Barkeep looked surprised, as he wiped off the wooden counter with his apron. "Somethin' wrong?"

Vargkom shook her head once as she began to move away with he drink. "No. I just didn't get enough sleep last night, that's all."

The Barman didn't press the topic, but Vargkom could tell that he didn't believe her. As always, Aaron Butterbur sensed when she wasn't being completely truthful.

The dwarf woman had worked as a Bard and Blacksmith at the Prancing Pony for a good many years, and because of Butterbur's kindness, she had been able to make a fair living at her trades.

And in the time Vargkom had spent working in his employ, the round Innkeeper had become a good friend to her, and treated her as an equal. This in itself was the only reason that Vargkom hadn't left Bree in almost thirty-five something years.

The dwarf lass was well known for her skill set, and because she had been performing in the Prancing Pony for so long, she was a favorite among the regulars. Vargkom pulled her harp out from the depths of her cloak and readied herself to begin her nightly performance.

"A good night to you, Masters," Vargkom called out, once she was sitting comfortably in her chair of choice. She experimentally ran her fingers over the tight strings of her instrument and smiled as the notes escaped their bonds. There was truly nothing like music. "Do any of you lads have requests for me?"

The occupants of the Inn, echoed back the greeting and several called out titles to their favorite ballads, to which the female dwarf nodded and played each and every request. Her voice rang out strong and sure along with her harp's dulcet tones, in the smoky and dimly lit drinking hall.

And as Vargkom finished yet another request, she was met with raucous cheering and random spurts of clapping that made her smile and shake her head in amusement. It was an entertaining and somewhat disappointing fact that it was usually the drunks that enjoyed her skills as a bard the most, which made her sometimes question her actual talent. But as always, the dwarf woman pushed off her doubts and called out for more requests. And at her prompting a voice rang out across the hall.

"Sing us a drinking song, lass!"

Vargkom turned her gaze to follow the voice and her eyes instantly grew wider when she recognized the speaker to be one of her kind. He was of average height with a cheerful air about him and a striking fur hat, that he sported rather well.

Vargkom respectfully dipped her head to him. "I can do that. But did you have a particular one in mind?"

The dwarf with the cap shrugged. "Nay, I don't have a preference. Other than for it to be a good one that I can enjoy!"

Vargkom smiled and without further hesitation began to sing her favorite drinking song.

* * *

**_"Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go_**

**_To heal my heart and drown my woe._**

**_Rain may fall and wind may blow,_**

**_And many miles be still to go_**

**_But under a tall tree I will lie,_**

**_And let the clouds go sailing by!"_**

* * *

The lyrics were short and the tune was simple, but it made for a great drinking song. Vargkom sang it once through and then called upon the rest of the hall to sing along with her. The ale drinkers were all too pleased to join in and soon enough the Prancing Pony was ringing with the sound of forceful and off-tune singing. They sang it again and again, in rounds, making the Bard smiled in delight despite herself.

But all too soon the noise died down, and Vargkom stood from her chair ready to call it a night. The she-dwarf replaced her harp back into her cloak and made her way over to the doorway that lead to the Inn's sleeping chambers. She was tired and the comfort of her room was calling her name. But as the Bard reached for the handle, someone placed their hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

When she turned to observe the owner of the hand she was surprised to see that it was the dwarf that had requested the drinking song. Vargkom remained silent as she waited for the stranger to explain his actions, wondering how he managed to look so happy and without a care in the world.

The dwarf didn't lower his hand from her shoulder as he said, "That was some mighty fine singin', lass."

"I do my best," Vargkom answered truthfully, noticing how gentle the dwarf's grip was despite his rather calloused hands.

"If that twas your best, then I say you have more than mastered your art."

Vargkom slightly blushed at the praise to which the stranger laughed.

"I just wanted to make your acquaintance before you retired for the evening. I'm Bofur." He said with a small inclination of his head.

"I'm glad to know you," the she-dwarf said sincerely. "I am Vargkom the Bard of Bree, at your service."

Bofur clapped her on the back, though he did so without hurting her, and his smile grew even bigger. "Miss Vargkom, would you like to join me fer a drink? I know you were heading out, but I would love some company while I finish my ale."

Vargkom studied his face for a moment, seeing nothing but honest goodwill from Bofur, so she smiled back at him. "I suppose another drink tonight, wouldn't be amiss."

Bofur's eyes twinkled merrily as he offered his arm. Vargkom was somewhat taken aback by the forward action, not used to the company of her kind, but she ended up taking his arm and laughed. "Do you ever stop smiling, Master Bofur?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Not when there's a pretty lass about."

Vargkom chuckled as she followed Bofur back to a table that he had been occupying, and took the seat opposite him. Bofur pushed a fresh tankard towards Vargkom and they both took a long swing, before Bofur began to ask her questions. He wasn't pushy or prying as he talked, merely curious.

"Were you born in Bree?"

"No," Vargkom said taking another drink. "I came here with my brother when I was still a child, and I've been here ever since. I began to work in the town's forge and here at the Inn once I was old enough to be trusted on my own."

Bofur lifted an eyebrow, "You're a blacksmith?"

"Yes. My mother and brother were both important smithies when we lived in the mountains."

"Oh really?"

"They worked for the King Under the Mountain." Vargkom said so softly that Bofur almost didn't catch it. But he did, and his eyes softened. And taking her hand in his own, he asked, "How old were you?"

Vargkom looked at the table and was silent for several moments, for she knew exactly what he was asking.

"I was five years old, when Erebor was taken."

Bofur's whole air seemed to change and he had stopped smiling for the first time since Vargkom had met him.

"So young. . . You said you and your brother came here to Bree?"

Vargkom nodded.

"What about your mother?"

"She was killed in the attack," the she-dwarf answered slowly. "I was separated from my family when Smaug took the main halls. It was nearly a week before my brother Tybbar found me."

Bofur was silent for quite a while, and Vargkom was grateful for this. She had never talked about her childhood with another soul, and she found that doing so was utterly taxing.

Finally Bofur said something, but as he did so he leaned in closer and his voice was naught but a whisper.

"Would you ever go back to Erebor, lass? Would you ever wish to call it your home?"

"I would go back," the she-dwarf said solemnly. "If Smaug was ever defeated, I would go and try to reclaim my birthright as the Royal Smith of the Lonely Mountain. In honor of my mother."

Bofur studied her carefully. "What if I told you that someone was going to challenge Smaug the Terrible?"

Vargkom met his gaze and scoffed, "I would say he was a fool. The entire army of Erebor fought the beast and lost. But be that as it may, I would most likely give him my blessing anyway."

Bofur chuckled as he fixed his hat. "Aye, Vargkom. It _is_ a fool's errand, but someone's got to try."

"_You'r_e going back to Erebor?" Vargkom asked.

Bofur nodded. "The King has called upon all of our kin. The ravens have begun to fly back to the mountain, and a quest is being set in motion in a fortnight."

Vargkom's brow wrinkled in confusion. "The King? Thrain has been found?"

Bofur shook his head, "No lass, I speak of his son."

"Prince Thorin. . ."

"He was labeled _the King in Exile_, several years back."

Vargkom felt her stomach drop as she realized what she had to do. If it was the Prince that had called upon them, she didn't really have a choice. She would have to heed the summons.

Taking the last of her ale in one long gulp, the she-dwarf spoke her thoughts aloud.

"Count me in, Bofur. I will answer the call of the King. . . I will help you recapture the Lonely Mountain, or give my life trying to help others succeed."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_

I have a very good friend who is a hardcore Bofur fan, and because of her love and her mad art skillz, I have started to write this fanfiction. I plan for Bofur and Vargkom to be good friends throughout the story, though it is Thorin Oakenshield that my lovely Dwarf OC will end up with.

The Drinking Song in this chapter is actually one of Tolkien's LOTR poems, so I thought it was a fun thing to use. Thorin makes his first appearance next chapter! ^^

Please tell me what you think of the story thus far! I would love to hear from you!

**_~Lyn Harkeran_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Farewells**

* * *

Vargkom slept restlessly after her conversation with Bofur and awoke the next morning with a tight knot in her chest. The she-dwarf knew that this was merely a sign of her anxieties about the journey ahead, so she chose to ignore it and continue with her regular schedule.

She got up from her comfy bed, and washed and dressed at a snail's pace, before she made her way down to the Bar of the Prancing Pony.

The Inn itself was split into two floors; the bottom level being the kitchens and drinking hall, and the top half consisting of the sleeping quarters and store rooms. All in all, it was a cosy building that had the homey type of feeling one might get when staying in a large trappers cottage. Which most didn't seem to mind.

Vargkom walked down the stairway into the Bar and wasn't surprised to see that it was empty of patrons. There weren't many who came to the Inn during the daylight hours. It was only as the evening drew near that the men of the small hamlet came to drink their cares away and find a place to stay for the night.

The she-dwarf made her way through the vacant tables and chairs towards the kitchens, and walked past firepit in the center of the large room, noticing that the wooden planks that had been used for firewood were now reduced to nothing but ash.

The thought of ashes made Vargkom slightly cringe, but she quickly stopped herself from lingering on her fear, and pushed into the kitchens, thus beginning her morning ritual.

Everyday, for the as many years as she had been Bree, Vargkom took a small crust from the old batch of bread, knowing that Aaron Butterbur would throw it out if she didn't, and then walk out to the forge, chewing and warming up her voice by singing children's rhymes in quick succession. This always succeeded in making her alert and mindful enough to set to work, and at the same time wake up her vocal chords.

Vargkom walked slowly as the familiar tunes passed her lips, but found that the bread didn't look as appetizing as it had in the kitchens. Mind, the she-dwarf had never been big on breakfast, but today she could barely force down a mouthful of the crispy, golden brown pastry.

_"Nothing more than nerves,"_ Vargkom chided herself, but ended up giving the morsel to a stray dog she found sleeping outside her forge.

"Here ya go," she had called gently, rolling the crust to the old animal. "That's a good boy. Finish it off, love, for I can't. . .That's it, have yourself some nice, tasty, breakfast."

The dog studied her thoroughly before he snorted at her in thanks and took the bread in one soft chom, swallowing it whole. The dwarf lass smiled as she entered her forge, and a deep laugh escaped her, as well as a comment that the dog would fit in with a wild boar's brood of piglets since he ate his food so quickly. But despite her comment, she was pleased that the animal was able to enjoy the morsel, when she couldn't. It was a testament that the world was still the same. That dogs would be dogs no matter what happened. And that she would always have someone who was willing to share with her and vice-versa.

Vargkom's closed the doors behind her and instantly her smile grew, as she took in the familiar sight of her workplace. Whenever the lass entered the forge a feeling of peace washed over her, and today was no exception. So the she-dwarf immediately set to work.

The previous night before retiring to her sleeping chamber, Vargkom had made a plan with Bofur to meet at the Prancing Pony's stables right before midday, to begin their journey. One might have thought that they should have left at first light, but both companions had preparations to make and business to take care of before their departure. So they had agreed to set back the time of their withdrawing from Bree. And because of the allotted time, Vargkom had planned to work in her forge like she would have at any other time, with a creative mind and firm actions. But today was special, for instead of working on her regular orders of horseshoes, farming equipment, or simple blades for the men of Bree, she worked on her own weapons.

The dwarf lass heated her fires two times hotter than usual and smiled as sweat formed on her brow. It was a well known fact, that if you weren't sweating when using a forge, then you weren't a true smithie.

The first task Vargkom assigned herself was touching up on her light leather armor, to make sure that she would be able to move fast and yet still be protected in a battle. This took her longer than she would have liked, but working with leather had never been something that came easy for her. The dwarf had to completely focus and remember her brother's advice to finish the touch up without a hitch, but the final product was good enough that she could be proud of herself and move onto the next order of business.

Her next priority was her set of twin axes. They were small by most standards but had an interesting tale to tell. More than once, these wicked little metal works had saved Vargkom in a scrape, keeping her alive and rendering her enemy lifeless. They were good for close combat because of their lightweight and fast cleaving abilities. The dwarf would never have gone to answer her summons without them strapped to her waist, so she was more than pleased to finally get the chance to upgrade them.

Vargkom hummed happily as she sat at her work bench sharpening and polishing _'the twins'_ as she had come to call them, and let her mind wander.

It had been nearly thirty years since the she had left Bree, and though she was resigned to go on the quest the King was mounting, the she-dwarf was still uneasy. It was very possible that she would never return, and the thought made her stomach clench for the umptienth time that morning. Vargkom knew for certain that it was fear that made her feel like dropping to the ground clutching onto herself as if she would fall apart, but she refused to give into her doubts.

_"I have to go,"_ she told herself firmly._ "For my kinsman, my King, and for the memory of all those who have been lost. I must be brave and make my family proud." _

Vargkom took several deep breaths and fought to bridle her apprehension, knowing that she had made up her mind, and that there was no turning back. She would answer the call of the King. She would go help reclaim Erebor. She would live and die in honor, like her mother would have wished. But most important Vargkom would not give into fear.

So the she-dwarf resumed working on her weapons and prepared herself for the adventure of a lifetime.

* * *

"Where are you off to then?"

Vargkom looked up from her saddlebag, though her face was an expressionless mask, knowing who the voice belonged to before her dark eyes settled on him, where he stood in the stable doorway.

"I must away immediately," the she-dwarf said quietly, resuming her final check of the previsions that she had gathered. "My kinsmen have called to me and I must answer."

Aaron Butterbur fully entered the stable now and frowned as Vargkom turned away from him.

"You would go to these kinsmen without a word to me explaining where you had gone?"

Vargkom couldn't bring herself to look at him as she nodded. "Aye, Aaron. I was going to leave quietly and without a word, for there is a chance I will never come back, and I didn't want our goodbyes to be long and drawn out. Not after all we've been through. . . Not after all the kindness you have shown me all these years."

The portly Barkeep placed his hand on Vargkom's shoulder and the dwarf lass felt his grip tighten anxiously. Aaron Butterbur, the lovely, father-like Innkeeper was trying not to cry.

"Why would you go when you know you mightn't come back," he asked angrily, like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. "Why would you willing put yourself in danger when you have a home and people who care for you?"

Vargkom turned around to look at her old friend, a sad smile gracing her lips. "Because we must be faithful and true to what we believe in, even if we are afraid. Because family is _everything_."

Aaron shook his head though Vargkom could see that his resolve was beginning to fade. "You could stay here, Vargkom. I'm sure that no one would think less of you for not going. How could they when they are asking you to leave everything familiar and trudge off to heaven knows where?"

"I go because I_ want_ to, Aaron," she answered. "I would think less of myself if I didn't go now when I am needed. I would never be able to stay here in Bree if I couldn't stand on my own two feet and be brave enough to leave behind the comforts I've come to rely upon. I must go for me."

Aaron Butterbur was silent for a moment, his large eyes slowly pouring over with unshed tears as he gazed down at the small dwarf woman before him. And as the two old friends looked upon each other, an understanding passed between them, and the Innkeeper nodded once to show that he would respect her decision.

"If you must go, I will not stop you," he promised though he sounded sadder than Vargkom could ever remember. ". . .Let us say our goodbyes here while we have the chance."

Vargkom felt several tears drop from her own eyes and she tried to hide them. She was sad to be leaving Bree and Aaron, and she knew she would miss them dearly, but she also didn't want him to worry. And as she fought to repress her fear, the she-dwarf reached out and wrapped her arms around the large man's middle. The man immediately hugged her back, and the two knew that they would part as the dearest of friends.

"Thank you for always being there, Aaron."

The man choked up even more and said, "Well, thank you for being the best bard and smithy that has ever graced my halls."

Vargkom felt the praise was far too high, but took the compliment with silent gratitude. And after several comfortable seconds, Aaron Butterbur pulled away and gave her a soft, genuine smile though he was snuffling horribly.

"Fair travels, little Mistress," he offered sincerely. "I pray that someday that you will return to the Prancing Pony . . . For your positions as Bard and Blacksmith will always be open to you, should you ever wish to come back."

Vargkom lowered her head in a sign of respect but found that she couldn't smile. This parting was more trying than she could have ever imagined. . . Aaron Butterbur wasn't merely her employer, but her father figure and friend. And Bree had been her home for half of her lifetime. She knew that she would miss him dearly.

"Goodbye Master Butterbur," Vargkom said dropping into a deep bow. "May your ale be sweet and your Inn prosperous for many years to come."

The Innkeeper blushed a dark red before he held out a coin bag. "The coinage I owe you," he explained as she reached out and took the pouch. "Wouldn't want you to go without. . . Well, Good morrow, little one."

"Good morrow," she returned. And without another word from either, Aaron Butterbur left the stables and returned to the drinking hall of the Prancing Pony to prepare for the evenings business.

Once she was sure that he was truly gone, Vargkom cried for several minutes, before she regained her courageous face and wiped her tears away. Then not wanting to make it harder on herself, the she-dwarf grabbed her pony's reins and made her way out of the stables to the main street.

And it was with erect shoulders and firm steps that the dwarf lass found Bofur standing in front of the doors with a kind smile and a small book in his hand.

"Ahh, there yeh are! I thought perhaps yeh might've forgotten me!"

Vargkom felt her lips quirk into a small grin as Bofur teased her, and replied sincerely, "I could never forget you. Not after you called for such an excellent drinking song last night."

Bofur smiled at that and then clapped his hand against the cover of the book merrily. "Well, I was born with a smart head on my shoulders and a fine set of hands."

Then upon seeing her pony's saddlebags, he asked, "Are you ready to go, lass?"

Vargkom nodded taking one last look at the Prancing Pony, "I am."

"Then let's be off."

Both Vargkom and Bofur mounted their ponies, and then side by side made their way out of Bree. Both filled with high hopes for what was to come.

* * *

_**Author's Note: I know that I promised Thorin would be in the 2nd chapter, but the story wanted to come out a different way. Please bare with me! **_

_**Anyway, thank you to everyone who has faved, commented, and reviewed! You guys are great! **_

_**~Lyn Harkeran**_


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